Dystopia
by Kubala-Khan
Summary: Thinking back, Temari never thought she'd be having tea with the devil Monday morning.


Dystopia

By: Kubala-Khan

Note: Well, Hidan and Temari have been on my mind for awhile, so this is really just my way of shutting my musings up. This _was _a one-shot until the actual story halfway filled up my hundred page notebook XD. Enjoy, kiddos and reviews would be lovely!

Warning: This fic will be extremely bizarre. It's not AU. It is pure madness and psychological eeriness. You've been warned.

**Cackotopia**

Temari had tea with the Devil Monday morning. Seeing Hidan move within a domestic setting, carefully spooning sugar into each hot mug while the warm dawn light rose steadily over the bow of his shoulder blades, you could almost forget the man was a psychopath.

Almost.

"I only like you," Hidan drawled, "because you speak my language."

Temari said nothing, and reached for the cereal.

"I get tired of talking to fucking corpses," said Hidan. "They aren't half as interesting as the shit you dream up, Temari. Your wild _homicidal_ urges. You're damn good at pretending it doesn't happen. You sit your ass there and smile and pour your milk -- that's right -- and fucking pretend that everything is just, fucking normal. But deep down you know damn it..."

He trailed off, meaningfully, slid one mug across the tabletop and into Temari's palm as if the gesture alone could validate his point. Behind him the sun slid along the edge of the world, the edge of the _end_ of the world, gilding down the buildings and sand with a surreal glaze of gold. As the light touched the great dunes of the sand, the sand stirred and seemed to boil; the gouts of sand and debris floated from its surface and drifted upward to form clouds. Temari thought of forges, of blacksmiths, of the heat of metal and the satisfying sizzle of evaporating liquid. She sipped her tea and found the flavor somewhat sharper than she might have liked.

"I keep telling you that I'm just a fucking memory," said Hidan. "The trouble is, of course, that I'm _yours_."

Temari sighed as she cradled the mug between her hands and blew on it.

"You could be rid of me in a goddamn instant," said Hidan. "Push your chakra into your brain and tear me out. Nothing simpler. A quick, snappy jutsu lobotomy and I'm gone. Easy as shitting." He made an expansive motion with his hands. "Only I think you like having me here. You'd rather bitch at me than kill me. At least that way you can be sure where I am. Who I am."

Temari was unsurprised that she found her cereal looked very unappetizing. She stared at him wordlessly, knowing now that ignoring the problem wasn't the way to get it to go away. Her stomach churned. "Leave me alone," Temari said disdainfully. "We've been over this a thousand times. You shouldn't _be_ here."

"In fact," Hidan said thoughtfully completely disregarding Temari, "I think I'm the only thing that keeps you sane."

Very slowly he set aside his mug and leant his elbows on the table, extending his long fingers to swipe -- almost paternally -- at the fringe of hair that fell over her eye. She failed to flinch; failed to even acknowledge the motion. In the far distance she could see the sand beginning to blacken, although whether it was just a trick of shadow or not, she couldn't be sure. Right now it was difficult to be certain of anything, except that Hidan's hands were now wrapped around her wrists, and her own mug of tea was being pried from her grasp, and Hidan's mouth was unnervingly close to her own.

"We're so alike, in dignity." Hidan's lips, and Hidan's breath, felt a little like the sun and it made Temari queasy.

"Shit, if I were you, and you were me, I wouldn't let you go either. I'd use you as a fucking example. I'd hold you down, in front of everyone. I'd hold you down with your hands over your head." He stopped to utter a breathy chuckle that tickled Temari's lips. "I'd sit on your chest and I'd look into your eyes, and I'd say, _Temari_..."

"Stop," said Temari softly, too softly, she sounded weak; not like herself.

"I'd say, _Temari. Here but for the grace of Jashin_..."

Then they were on the table, Hidan's strong body wrenched passed the breakfast things, milk sloshing sideways, cereal spilling from its packet and scattering out across the cloth. Temari felt the sting of hot tea on her thigh and the jarring of her elbow as Hidan tried to regain his ground. Hidan's breathing was labored, excited and somehow he had managed to wrest one arm clear and swing it loosely around her neck. Like a noose, Temari thought, like a shackle, like a chain. She was conscious of Hidan's weight, or rather the conspicuous _absence_s of weight as he draped half over her, impossibly light, a shackle that wasn't a shackle, in a dream that wasn't quite a dream.

They slid closer with the tablecloth wending its way between Temari's legs, and she began to shift to slide off the table. Then Hidan's hand was there, holding her down, safe, warm and firm. Then getting off the table didn't seem to matter anymore. Her clothes were damp with milk and hot water, and Hidan, gently raising Temari's shirt over her chest, fastened his mouth to her skin and lapped at it gently. He looked more cat-like than Temari had ever thought possible. When she shifted slightly to stop him, Hidan took her squirming as encouragement. He glanced up and grinned.

"Really, Temari," said Hidan. "You're fucking _spoiling_ me..."

She watched Hidan's mouth as his tongue trailed over her skin, and that's when she knew she was going to be sick. Maybe it was the fact that the man she hated was tonguing her, maybe it was the fact that the room seemed to spinning. Temari didn't know. All she knew was that she was going to be sick.

"I'm going to vomit," Temari said, as clearly and precisely as she could. The world was wiggling unpleasantly, both inside and out, and she was determined not to puke before she reached the sink. It was about to not matter at all though, as Hidan was still holding her down.

"Well, that's something I haven't heard before," Hidan said thoughtfully. "I give you points for creativity."

Bile rose.

Temari bolted for the sink, Hidan or not. Then there was a black shape in her path, and her stomach was heaving—

"Shit, you _are_ going to vomit!" Hidan said smirking, and she nearly slipped on the lukewarm tea and milk spattered on the flooring as she made her way to the sink. She clutched onto the basin and heaved, groaning as stomach acid stung her throat and dribbled down her nose.

"So, I make you sick?" Hidan asked, carelessly leaning against the counter adjacent her, "Good to know."

A low humming sound droned into Temari's ears, growing progressively louder as if it were coming from miles away until she could understand the mumbled incoherent vibrations. _You have to wake up, Temari_, then she felt the strangest sensation, strange enough to make her stop heaving.

Had she not seen it with her own eyes she never would have believed it. Everything was literally rippling, as if the entire world was a pond that had just been disturbed by a massive pebble. While Temari stood blinking, trying to fix what she thought was a problem with her vision, all that she had perceived as truth faded away to another reality.

She was laying on white sheets, and the breakfast things gone, and the familiar face of her brother peered worriedly down at her from what seemed like a distance of several hundred thousand miles. A glass of water was brought against her parched mouth and the remnants of the dream washed away down the back of her throat, like the tickle of a cough, _Temari, Temari, you're going to be okay, you're going to be_...

Then she woke up.

And _it was all a dream._

The sun was still gold and the sand was, in spite of everything, little candle-flames, flickering and wavering in the breeze.

"Seriously," Hidan said in good humor, leaning over to refill Temari's mug, "you didn't _really_ expect to fucking win, did you?"


End file.
